lion’s head doorknocker, dusters and metal polish in her hands, and Venetia bit back a bubble of excitement and asked, ‘Did Carlo say what time he’d be back?’
‘He didn’t say and I didn’t ask,’ the older woman said drily. ‘But I dare say he’ll show up in time for lunch.’ She drew level, settling the wooden box that held her cleaning materials more securely under her arm. ‘So I shouldn’t waste the morning hanging around for him, if I were you. And a word of advice—’ her round face went as stern as it was possible to get ‘—don’t make your crush on him so obvious. You’ll soon get over it and when you do you’ll feel a fool. You’ll regret the way you’ve been hanging around him.’ Then, at the flash of pure fury in Venetia’s pale eyes, her expression softened as she added, ‘It’s your pride that will hurt most in the end, pet. I can understand the attraction; what woman couldn’t? But apart from him being too old for you, he’s probably got half a dozen or so elegant ladies waiting for him back home. Now—’ the lecture over, she glanced at the long-case clock on the wall ‘—it’s gone half-past nine; has your father come down yet? It’s not like him to lie in this late, is it?’
‘I haven’t seen him,’ Venetia responded icily. How dared Potty call what she felt for Carlo a crush! She wasn’t a child. She loved Carlo and always would. And what would Potty know about it? She was fifty if she was a day!
Swinging round on her heels, her shoulders huffily rigid, she marched to the main door, dragging the summer-scented air through pinched nostrils. No one understood how she was hurting, how her need to get close to Carlo both spiritually and physically was an ache that grew larger every day because he simply wouldn’t let her through the wall he had deliberately erected around himself.
It was going to be hot, she decided, feeling the sun burn against her exposed skin as she wandered out on to the drive. Normally, on a day like today was going to be, she would have happily idled away several hours in or beside the outdoor swimming-pool. But she was too restless to even contemplate it, even though the heat seemed to be growing more sultry with every moment that passed.
Besides, she needed to see Carlo; she couldn’t run the risk of missing him on his return. She had formulated the perfect plan to get him to herself, and he couldn’t refuse, surely he couldn’t?
Settling down on the last of the stone steps that led to the main door, she leant against the plinth that carried an urn which billowed with scarlet geraniums, breathing in their spicy scent and determined to stay exactly where she was until she took root, if necessary, then saw that she wouldn’t have to wait that long because Carlo was already approaching the house along the drive.
Her heart beating rapidly enough to choke her, she scrambled to her feet and tried to look cool and calm. Everything depended on how she extended the invitation. She had to put it in a way that would make it impossible for him to turn down, make him feel that he would be behaving discourteously as a guest in her father’s home if he were to do so.
It was the first time she had seen him in anything but lightweight, impeccably elegant business suits or formal evening wear and, if anything, he looked even more impossibly attractive in slim-fitting tan-coloured cotton jeans topped by an open-necked black shirt. Come to me; love me as I love you! she commanded desperately inside her head, then, as she felt the helpless tears suddenly glaze her eyes, she blinked them back and hauled herself together.
Slowly, she began to walk towards him, trying to look as if she had nothing more important on her mind than the enjoyment of the glorious weather. But inside she was a mess. Her heart was beating thickly, suffocating her, her breathing going haywire, because if he refused to agree to her request she would know she had lost the only remaining chance she had to get him to fall in love with her a little.
Desperately she reminded herself that there was no room in her head for thoughts of failure, and deliberately avoided looking directly at him as they met. She turned her head instead to contemplate the façde of the house as she swung on her heels and fell in step beside him.
‘Enjoy your walk?’ She kept her voice cool, devoid of anything but polite interest, and that was good. And successfully fought the temptation to reach out and hold on to his arm, even though her fingers ached to touch that firm, sun-warmed, tanned flesh.
‘Very much.’ His response was terse. If he was pleased to see her he wasn’t showing it. ‘Is your father around? I need to speak to him.’
‘I haven’t seen him this morning.’ Vaguely she recalled Potty remarking on his lateness, and quickly dismissed the thought from her head, because this whole scenario looked like running away from her.
Carlo had increased his stride and she was having to trot to keep up with him, and nothing was going as she’d planned it in her head.
‘Would you do me a favour?’ The words came out in a breathless gabble, the sophisticated, almost bored approach she’d decided on nowhere in sight, because he was making for the house as if the hounds of hell were on his tail!
And then he seemed to freeze; she could see the wide, rangy shoulders stiffen as he slowly turned to face her, his stunning features perfectly blank as he assured her with formal politeness, ‘Naturally. If I can.’
Suddenly, the butterflies in her stomach became a flock of crazed eagles, and she almost turned and fled, and had to force herself to stay right where she was.
‘Well?’ The indifferent enquiry was accompanied by a small, hard smile as he thrust his thumbs into the side pockets of his trousers and rocked indolently back on his heels.
‘I...’ All those carefully planned words had fallen out of her head and, to steady herself, she took a deep breath and watched in a kind of wondering triumph when his hooded eyes dropped to her breasts as the long gulp of air into her lungs thrust them against the soft fabric of her skimpy top.
He was aware of her. He was! As much as he tried to hide it from her, and possibly from himself, these were the tiny, give-away signs that had stopped her from abandoning all hope days ago!
And she said, only a little shakily, ‘Well, actually, a friend of mine is having a birthday party at the Savoy tonight. I said I’d go, and you know how it is—’ she managed a slight shrug ‘—I don’t want to disappoint her. But Father has this bee in his bonnet about letting me loose on my own, and I wondered if you could do me a favour and act as my escort?’
She held her breath, willing him to agree, and all the time she watched his face, her eyes wide with unknowing entreaty, the tip of her tongue nervously flickering between her lips as she watched his mouth tighten, his nostrils flare just briefly, before he coolly informed her, ‘I’m sure the party will be delightful. However, as I’m leaving for Rome tomorrow my time will be fully occupied this evening.’
She stared at him with shocked, bewildered eyes. Two body-blows in one cruel sentence. Not only had he refused her request, but he was leaving the country tomorrow. How could she stand it? She hated herself for being so vulnerable, hated him for being the cause of all this pain. And heard him say, a strange softness in his voice, ‘Try to forgive me, Venetia. In a little while, a few weeks—days, even—you will forget all this—’ he shrugged eloquent shoulders, his face softening, his smile crooked as he found the words he wanted ‘—this infatuation. I am too old for you, too hard and, most probably, too intolerant.’ He lifted his beautiful, strong hands, as if he was about to touch her, then dropped them back to his sides, his brows drawing together in a frown that told her something was irritating him. Her, most probably! And she scarcely registered what he said, an unusual curtness clipping his tone. ‘You are young and exquisitely lovely. Go to your party tonight and enjoy yourself with people your own age.
